


maybe, maybe

by lucymonster



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Awkward Romance, Ben Solo Lives, Enemies to Lovers, Extra Treat, M/M, Post-Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:53:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22658851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucymonster/pseuds/lucymonster
Summary: Finn gets to know Ben Solo. It's not as bad as he expects.
Relationships: Finn/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 12
Kudos: 32
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 5





	maybe, maybe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cerberusia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerberusia/gifts).



Maybe it’s the clothes. Finn knows firsthand how big a difference clothes can make, like how he wore that clunky white armour for years and felt like a new guy when he swapped it out for Poe’s flight jacket. Sure, there was a lot else going on at the time, and it wasn’t just the costume change that got him across the line – but it helped. Changed the way he moved. There’s only so out of your depth you can feel when you’re rocking leathers that scream devil-may-care swagger. There’s only so hard even a guy like Ren can billow and stomp when he’s dressed down in a tatty old crewneck. 

So maybe it’s the clothes, but Finn can’t help noticing his lack of fear when Ren’s around.

That’s not to say he’s comfortable with it. If hate’s a strong word then it’s not far off the mark: there are things you don’t forget in a hurry, no matter how much happens in between. A rough count of zero people were pleased when Rey returned from Exegol with her limping former enemy in tow. But it felt like a low blow to kill him while he was sedated in bacta, and he wasn’t much threat to anyone while he was recovering on bedrest in the care of a small fleet of med droids. Now Ren’s up and about, and no matter how many times Finn passes him, the old blood-curdling fear fails to return. Glimpsed from the corner of his eye, Ren could be someone else. Someone harmless. An old Resistance hand or one of the newcomers from the final war push.

He’s here to stay, Rey has made that much clear. And with the galaxy’s central government in ruins, there’s no war crime authority to lay a higher claim on him, so for now, at least, her word goes.

It’s not like Finn would rather live in fear. It’s just weird that he’s not, that’s all.

* * *

Maybe it’s the pallor. Granted, Ren never struck Finn as the sun-and-surf type, but there’s a sickly tone to his skin that speaks to more than lack of a beach tan. He sits alone in the mess tent on Ajan Kloss, at arm’s length from the skeleton crew manning the base until they pack up for good. For such a large guy, Finn can’t help but notice he doesn’t eat a lot.

He’s still weak from his injuries. Why Rey can’t just Force heal him is anyone’s guess. Finn hasn’t heard the whole story of what happened on Exegol, but he’s gleaned that it cost both Ren and Rey a lot more than just physical strength. Maybe there’s not enough Force heal to go around. Ren picks at his rations and takes long, tired breaks between each mouthful.

‘I could get you a stim,’ Finn finds himself saying one day, when he stumbles across Ren taking a sit-down break on the short trek back to the cave. Slouched on an old munitions crate, he looks ready to pass out on the spot.

When he looks up, his eyes take a moment to focus. ‘FN-2187?’

‘It’s Finn now,’ Finn corrects, wondering why he didn’t just keep walking. It’s too late. He’s committed. ‘We’ve got some stim shots from a med supply run. They’re not as strong as the old trooper battle stims, but if you’re too wiped to even make it back to quarters–’

‘I’m fine,’ says Ren. ‘Just sitting.’

‘Just sitting.’

‘Yep.’ Ren’s eyes, red and puffy above dark bags, have a defiant spark that stands out against his chalky skin.

‘Okay. You do you, Ren.’

A pause. Hesitant, like a reloading blaster or a sweat-slick palm on a heavy weapon handle. ‘It’s Ben now.’

Ben, Ren, whatever. Finn can hate the guy under whatever name he prefers. It’s just hard to actively want to hurt someone who’s so clearly under the weather, that’s all he’s saying.

* * *

‘The whole company?’ Ben asks one day, when for reasons best known to himself he corners Finn out in the clearing where Rey used to train. He’s out here with a borrowed practice sword trying to remind his blaster-acclimated muscles how melee weapons work. You know, just in case. He’s not sure the power that’s awake inside him would be worth the effort even if Rey had time to train him. But there’s no rule saying only proper Jedi can carry lightsabers. ‘All at the same time, without even talking?’

He’s heard about Kef Bir, then, if he didn’t already know. It seems unlikely a mass defection could have snuck under First Order high command’s radar. But then, Kylo Ren never took much interest in what the rank and file were up to.

‘Yeah.’ Fear or no fear, Finn doesn’t like the idea of running combat drills with Ren – with Ben watching. He also doesn’t want to seem intimidated, so he forces out another few strikes and tries to make it look nonchalant. ‘What would they need to talk about? Once the Force calls you, it’s clear what you have to do. Or it is for most of us.’

‘You’re an expert on the Force now?’

Maybe it’s the way his lips twitch when Finn turns to face him. His voice is as flat and dark as it’s ever been, but there’s no anger in his eyes despite Finn’s effort to get in his two credits worth of well-earned criticism.

‘I’m an expert on choosing the right side.’ It sounds cooler in Finn’s head.

‘I guess you are.’

Silence falls. ‘Do you need something?’ Finn asks after a moment. ‘Because I’m trying to train, and these patterns aren’t ready for audience feedb–’

‘Tell me how you felt,’ says Ben. ‘The moment you knew. The moment the Force told you to walk away from the First Order. What was it like? How did you know to trust it?’

It’s not the kind of feeling that lends itself easily to words. Ben’s not the kind of listener who lends himself easily to self-disclosure. But there’s something strange in his expression – a hunger like he never shows at mealtimes – so, surprising himself, Finn tries.

Ben listens like he expects to be quizzed afterwards. His intensity makes Finn even more uneasy. He’s not qualified to give this kind of heavy-duty life advice, and even if he was, he’s not sure he’s ready to see Ben follow it.

* * *

Maybe it’s the hulking posture, or the floppy hair, or that quiet, sardonic humour pasted over all the glaringly obvious vulnerable bits. Maybe Finn just has really bad taste.

But he keeps on looking, like if he waits it out for long enough he’ll finally catch a glimpse of the fallen tyrant he’s supposed to be afraid of. He looks for the deadly wraith who cut him down on Starkiller and instead sees a blandly human body gone soft around the edges from weeks of bedrest. He looks for the face of the dreaded First Order and sees pale mole-flecked skin prone to greasiness around the T-zone. He looks and looks for Kylo Ren but all he ever sees is this Ben guy: Ben, who Finn theoretically hates, but who for reasons unclear he can’t take his damn eyes off.

He notices details that are none of his business, like how Ben uses the Force with absent-minded ease: to catch a dropped spoon, to move debris out of his way, to swat the relentless Ajan Kloss flies that swarm him when he steps outside. Finn’s insides are itchy with a power he barely understands, and Ben wears it like a second skin. No mysticism. No glamour. Maybe that’s why Finn can’t stop looking.

He breaks every rule of barracks manhood and sneaks a look at Ben in the communal shower. There are goosebumps on his skin from the unheated water running over his head. He has a strong, broad back. Not a lot of ass. His cock nestles purplish and shrunken from cold in a thicket of black hair. If Finn went over and kneed him in the balls, he’d crumple just like anyone.

In the overcrowded ship’s deck that they’re calling crew quarters, Finn shares a nook of the dorm with Ben because he’s the only person on board who didn’t refuse to bunk near him. Mostly they don’t talk. Mostly they just sleep. Sometimes, when he’s restless, Finn lies awake and hears what he thinks might be the under-blanket rustle of Ben taking care of himself. Or he might just be scratching. It shouldn’t matter either way, but Finn strains his ears anyway and tries to guess which it is.

Sometimes, he rolls over and sees the dim console lights reflecting off Ben’s wide-open eyes.

Finn shouldn’t have bragged about the certainty of his instincts in the Force. Because some kind of feeling is drawing him in, but he can’t tell exactly what it is and he doesn’t know what to do about it. He’s pretty sure Ben feels it too, because what he’s noticing is above all else is that the more he looks, the more he catches Ben looking back. 

* * *

Maybe it’s the way Ben melts when Finn finally gives up on common sense and kisses him.

It’s not a bad kiss. A little clumsy, maybe, but enthusiastic enough to make up for all the teeth and nose. There’s awe on Ben’s face when they break apart, awe and longing and disbelief, like behind his weird inscrutable face he’s wanted nothing more than to kiss Finn this whole time. Maybe that’s the vibe Finn’s been picking up on. The reason why, despite all reason and past experience, he’s been finding Ben so completely non-frightening.

‘I don’t know if this is a good idea,’ he says.

‘It is.’ Ben’s hands tighten on Finn’s shoulders as if to keep him there by force, which he’s likely strong enough to do. But there’s no sense of threat in his grip. ‘Let me prove it to you. I can…’ Blood rises to his pale cheeks. ‘I can do other things with my mouth.’

His shot lands several metres to the left of suave. But now’s probably the time for Finn to admit to himself that he’s not too picky. If he were, he’d have found someone other than Ben to obsess over ages ago. 

‘I’m not saying no.’

He’s saying yes – saying it a few too many times, maybe, over and over once Ben gets down on his knees for Finn and takes his cock into his wide, wet mouth. He has no finesse but also, as it turns out, no gag reflex. And the former they can work on. 

Maybe Finn can help him practice. 

He grabs handfuls of silky hair and holds Ben flush between his legs, and for the few heady minutes the blowjob lasts, his lack of fear no longer feels strange at all.


End file.
